We Call Upon the Author
by Mina Janke
Summary: 23 Year old Margaret has finally made her escape from Capricorn's village after 5 long years. However, she soon becomes entangled with the Folchearts and their neverending trials and tribulations. All she wants to do is go home, but she ends up in a deeper mess than the one she had left behind. Rated T currently.
1. Margaret's Escape

The light from the spotlight glared in Margaret's eyes as she peered out at the village from the hiding spot she had so carefully picked. Everyone was awake now, stumbling around sleepily in an attempt to find her. She was their precious captive swan, who had been planning this escape for nearly five years. Her captors had become too comfortable with her being there, and only placed a young, unarmed guard at her door in the evenings these days. The young ones were the easiest to trick. Flash a smile, bat your lashes, touch their waist ever so gently and steal their set of keys. They had probably expected her to run long ago, but here she was, waiting for the right moment to dash from behind the bushes and jump into whatever car she had stolen the keys from. Hopefully Margaret would be free for good. Maybe she'd be able to go far away where she'd be able to comfortably let her guard down and relax, without the fear of men in black coats coming to take her away and lock her up once again.

Margaret was first taken by these men five years ago when she was eighteen, working as a clerk at a bookstore in Maastricht. Their reason for taking her was because she had an "unbelievable talent that would go to waste". She was well aware of this talent, to bring books to life, but there were over one hundred reasons why she didn't use this talent. Number fifty-eight was that weirdos like these crows would discover this ability and use it for questionable reasons.

A search party had finally been sent out. Margaret could hear the men shouting, ordering the group to go search in the trash pile that lay west of the village. It was where she'd usually hide if she managed to run away from one of the guards escorting her, but she had always been too afraid to go any further. Tonight was her big escape. She could see flashlights shining and reflecting off of trash bags and broken glass in the distance. The spotlight was focused on the largest mound of trash, pointed far away from where Margaret was hiding. This was her chance to make a run for the cars. Standing up, she palmed the keys in one hand and drew out a knife in the other, just in case. This was the first time she had managed to steal car keys. It would make her escape so much easier.

Just as she was about to open the car door, a man jumped in front of her, stretching his arms out so she couldn't get past him. "Shit!" Margaret hissed, her eyes glaring daggers at the man in front of her, "I need to get out of here, what do you want from me, Dustfinger?" This man was always in and out of the villages. Though these people were his enemies, they were the closest connection he had to his home. Margaret was never sure what to think about him. He was never really friend or foe. In fact, they hardly ever spoke with each other, though they did share an occasional meaningful glance if they happened to cross paths. They both understood each others' predicament. She was literally a prisoner held against her will and he had no other choice but to continue returning to the Lion's Den.

"Take me with you!" Dustfinger exclaimed, grabbing her shoulders. "I can't stand to be here any longer. Capricorn isn't doing what he promised and I need to find another way home." He had a pained look in his eyes. Margaret felt a small ping of sympathy for him. She sighed and lowered her head.

"Alright. You can come with me." She broke free of his grasp and opened the car door, sitting in the driver's seat. "This doesn't mean that we're friends. I've learned to not trust every person who comes to me with puppy-dog eyes." Margaret's tone was cold as she glanced at Dustfinger who was looking nervously about the car.

With the lights off, she backed up and quietly made her way to the rusty gate just outside of the village. She'd turn her car lights on when she knew she was a safe distance from the village. Being spotted would ruin her whole escape plan.

Fifteen minutes had passed when Margaret finally turned on her headlights and pushed the gas pedal as hard as she could. The road was twisted, but she knew how to drive well enough where she wouldn't have to sacrifice speed for safety. Every minute or so, she'd glance nervously behind her, hoping that the black jackets weren't following her. After two hours had passed and she was on a main road, Margaret, now relaxed, switched on the radio (some swing station was on) and let her mind wander.

 _Margaret was eighteen again, tied up in the back of a van. Her clothes were soaked wet with rain, making the whole moment rather uncomfortable. She wasn't a small girl, by any means. She had just the right amount of pudge to be considered a curvy woman, but not enough to be overweight. Her hair was a tangled, strawberry blonde mess that reached to her shoulders. Most people would agree that she was rather attractive, but Margaret would deny this. She was a bashful girl and wasn't a very big fan of compliments. She thought most people were just blowing smoke up her ass. However, she could feel these strange mens' eyes on her, admiring the way her wet dress clung to her body._

 _She sat up on the metal floor, her eyes wide and full of fear. She imagined that she looked like a young child, Margaret felt defenseless. There was not a single ounce of bravery in her soul at this moment. Fear had devoured everything. Tears began running down her cheeks as one of the men, with olive skin and slicked back hair crept closer to her. Oh! How she felt so foolish for crying. The olive skinned man wiped a tear off her face and glanced at her dress. "How 'bout we get you out of those wet rags?" He smirked. Margaret jerked away from him, an icy glare in her eyes, but it just made the man burst out laughing,"looks like she's trying to fight back". He began tugging at the shoulder of her cardigan, slowly peeling it off. Margaret made every effort to fight back against him. The last thing she wanted was to be violated by these men._

 _"Hey, Cockerell," he said over his shoulder, "come help me with her. She's being awfully difficult." Margaret's eyes followed another man who got out of his seat and kneeled down just above her head, holding her shoulders firm. Cockerell, the man who was holding her fast was a wiry man with sandy hair and what appeared to be a bad leg. It was a surprise he was even able to hold her as strongly as he was. He was much stronger than Margaret had hoped. He cooed quietly into her ear, as if it would calm her._

 _"Don't worry pretty bird," He called, stroking her wet locks with his hand, "our master told us to not wreck you. Basta and I just want to have a little bit of fun, that's all." The olive skinned man, which she presumed to be Basta, untied her hands and slowly slid her cardigan off her shoulders, obviously savoring the moment. Margaret was shivering in fear. She had always been told what to do in situations like this in self defense classes, but she couldn't move a muscle._

 _Margaret shivered as she felt the zipper of her dress slide down her back. This was it. They'd violate her in this disgusting van. They had no intention of ever letting her go, either. Was it her destiny to forever be a toy to these men? Margaret let out a sob as her dress fell off her shoulders. She tried her hardest to gather what fabric she could to cover herself, but it was torn away from her. The two inspected her carefully, as if she was about to be slaughtered by a butcher._

 _"Look at this, Basta," Cockerell muttered as he turned over Margaret's left arm. His fingers traced over a trio of red roses that had been pounded into her skin with needle and ink. "Our little bird has adorned herself with ink since the last time we've seen her. I wonder how Capricorn will react to that?" Margaret was too weak to even process that they had seen her presumably many times before. She just wanted to be in bed at home, curled up with her cat._

 _Tears started flowing again, and Margaret let out a loud sob. At this point, she didn't even care if these men thought she was weak. She just wanted them to stop gazing at her half-naked body and let her go home. She was so weak, both physically and mentally, she didn't even feel the rough hands wiping her tears, giving her patronizing coos. Margaret was powerless..._

"Margaret?" A voice called out to her.

"Margaret, you're crying."

Margaret blinked and glanced over at Dustfinger, who was staring expectantly at her. He was right, her cheeks were wet with tears. Sniffing, she wiped her face dry with the sleeve of her dress and focused back on the road.

"Were you daydreaming?"

All she could do was nod and sniff once more until finally, she found the words she was looking for. "I was remembering the day I was kidnapped by Basta." Dustfinger had a sympathetic look on his face, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Margaret blinked, trying to hide her tears, but it was obvious she was torn up. "I'm going to stop at the next gas station so we can get our bearings. I need to have some sort of tentative destination."

It took Dustfinger a minute to think, but he chimed in nonetheless, "if we find a map, I can show you how to get to a safe place up north. It's just a simple bookbinder's home, but I'm sure he'd be willing to help us out."

* * *

hello again! It's been awhile since I've done any fanfiction things. I took my other stories off the site because I was growing tired of seeing them burn into my brain. I'm back with a new story and a new character named Margaret. If you look closely, there's a lot of Decemberists (Specifically the Hazards of Love, which is where Margaret got her name) references tastefully thrown around. As always, my personal characters are never involved romantically with any canon characters. Margaret is probably so traumatized that she'd find it difficult to fall i love at this point. I hope you enjoy reading, and I will come up with a second chapter as soon as possible!

\- xoxo Minke


	2. The Bookbinder's House

It was raining heavily when Margaret pulled in the drive of the bookbinder's house late the next evening. Dustfinger had mixed up the directions to the house several times, causing a delay in their journey. This was probably as far north as Margaret could go with the car she had stolen from Capricorn. He had men stationed secretly in many towns in this area, no doubt they would find it suspicious to see her driving their master's car. She'd have to find another way to get home...that was, if home was still there. It had been five years. Maybe her parents had given up hope that their daughter would ever return home. They weren't the most attentive people anyway. Too caught up in their own work to busy themselves with an extensive search for their youngest child.

"Switch off the lights and wait here." Dustfinger said as Margaret put the car in park. He climbed out of the car and began walking towards the house, holding his arms as close as possible to his body. No doubt the rain was cold. She was hoping that he'd knock on the front door, but he just stood still in the yard, staring up at the window on the top floor. Was he serious? This was no way to get someone's attention.

Sighing, Margaret turned off the car and grabbed the backpack she had packed with money she had stolen from Capricorn. She had bought a change of clothing at a thrift store on the way, but hadn't had the time to change. Dustfinger panicked when he had seen a man in a leather coat looking around the store. As she stepped out of the car, Margaret noticed a light flicker in one of the rooms upstairs and a small, round face peer out into the night. She shivered and walked up to Dustfinger. "What are you doing?" She asked, looking at him with tired eyes. "Just knock on the damn door, it's freezing out here."

Just then, another face peered out of the window. _This must be the bookbinder._ Margaret thought to herself. In a flash, he disappeared, hopefully to open the door. Sure enough, the front door was soon opened by a tall man with neat, chestnut hair.

"Dustfinger, is that you?" He called. His voice struck Margaret hard, even many years from now, she would still remember the impression it left her with. It was rich and clear, like the deepest bell in a church's steeple. "Who's your friend?" He added, nodding at Margaret. Dustfinger said nothing, and instead gestured towards the door with his head as if to say _"come on"_. She sheepishly followed him, brushing her long locks of wet hair off her face. Margaret was uneasy. This night reminded her so much of the very night she was taken. Perhaps this was an ill omen.

Dustfinger greeted the bookbinder cheerfully, who was rightfully weary of the scarred man. Every so often, he'd glance back at Margaret, who was nervously looking about the house. She heard them talking amongst each other, but paid no attention to it, but instead, paid attention to the young girl sitting on top of the staircase, peering down cautiously. She looked just as confused as Margaret felt. How did Dustfinger know this man and where he lived? The only logical explanation was that this bookbinder worked for Capricorn and had tricked her into coming here, only to be captured again. That was it.

The young girl, Meggie, as Margaret learned, was addressed by Dustfinger, who seemed amazed at how much time had passed since he had last seen her or her father. He had known them much longer than Margaret had been in Capricorn's possession.

"Come and get something warm to drink," the bookbinder said, disrupting Margaret's daze. She blinked and nodded, still unsure of how to feel about the whole situation. It took a lot of guts for her to break free from Capricorn's village, but truth was, she was constantly frightened. There hadn't been a single day that had passed that she wasn't in fear for her life, reduced to tears as she fell asleep every night. Sure, some nights were easier than others, but Margaret never got over the initial fear that she had felt when she was tied up in the van.

The two were led down the hall into a room full of bookbinding supplies. His workshop. It was warm and surprisingly inviting. Margaret's shoulders relaxed and she finally let her guard down for the first time in a long time. The bookbinder was rummaging through drawers in an attempt to find clothing that would fit Dustfinger. He glanced over at Margaret, who was idly leafing through the pages of a book that was resting on the table, "Do you have clean clothes miss?"

"Margaret," She replied, opening her backpack, "I have a change of everything except for a warm shirt. We were in a bit of a rush to get out of the store." The dress she was wearing had been provided by Capricorn, a deep blue, longsleeved, knee-length dress that was surprisingly comfortable. "I also have this," She added, pulling out a large wad of Euros, "I insist on repaying you for your kindness, mister bookbinder."

The bookbinder chuckled and handed Margaret a large, olive green sweater. "Please call me Mortimer. Dustfinger calls me Silvertongue, but I'm not a big fan of the nickname." He turned back to the drawers and fished out a pair of trousers and another sweater and handed them to Dustfinger, who carefully inspected the stitching. "You don't have to worry about repaying me. It's no trouble at all." He smiled a pleasant smile and opened the door of his workshop, "the lavatory is down the hall, so you can change." Outside, waiting for him was his daughter, who looked unhappy. She was weary of the two strangers in her home, unsure if she could trust them. Margaret didn't blame her. She herself was in tatters, her dress muddy and torn from her plight.

Fresh clothing always felt wonderful. The sensation of clean fabric touching her now clean skin brought Margaret back to the first day home from a long camping trip; the scent of firewood and the outdoors no longer clinging to your clothing. She was surprised that what she had hurriedly picked out matched; a pair of orange corduroy pants, a tan shirt from some obscure music group, and a pair of worn, brown boots completed her outfit. Margaret splashed warm water on her face and turned to head back to Dustfinger and Mortimer.

The daughter, Meggie, had her ear pressed to the door of the workshop. Her eyes snapped to Margaret as she heard her footsteps creak on the wooden floor. She looked somewhat frightened, possibly more afraid that this strange woman would rat her out to her father for listening in on their conversation. Margaret put a finger to her lips as she touched the handle of the door, flashing a playful smile. "I won't say a word," she whispered as she disappeared into the workshop.

Hot tea was waiting for her as she stepped into the room. Mortimer and Dustfinger were deeply involved in their conversation, huddled over a book bound in pale green linen. The two turned their heads in Margaret's direction as she approached them.

"Dustfinger said that you were one of my replacements," Mortimer mentioned as he handed her a cup of tea. Margaret inhaled the steam in slowly, bursts of chamomile and lavender filling her head. She remembered Capricorn telling her how talented she was, but it was 'impossible to compare her to Silvertongue'. She had learned that she was much better at bringing animals and inanimate objects out and sending them back rather than bringing out humans. The people Margaret lured from the pages had a very high mortality rate. She blamed it on nerves. The first year or so, she brought people from the pages easily, but it went downhill after that.

"I was, and I will never be your replacement again," Margaret sipped her tea, ignoring the burning sensation on her tongue. She saw Mortimer open his mouth for another question, but she cut him off before he could speak, " I don't want to talk about what happened there. _Please_." Margaret feared that she would never recover from being a prisoner for five years if she continued to talk about it. Some people recovered easier if they talked about their problems, and some were able to get by in silence. Margaret was the latter. She was always more of a 'suffer in silence' kind of person.

Mortimer just nodded his head, accepting Margaret's request. Time passed slowly, Dustfinger talked a bit about taking him back to Capricorn, an idea that both Margaret and Mortimer shot down. Apparently he had a book that her captor wanted very much. She couldn't imagine what book it was, since Capricorn spent so little time reading.

"Do you have a place you can stay? I don't mind letting you sleep on the couch." Mortimer asked when he noticed her yawning. Margaret did not. Her home was still far away and she wasn't even sure if it was still there at this point.

Shaking her head, she sleepily replied, "I would really appreciate it if you would lend me your couch. I promise to be out of your hair tomorrow; I'd like to see if my parents are still around." Mortimer offered the same to Dustfinger, who declined, saying that he preferred sleeping outdoors. He wished Margaret a safe trip home, and just like that, he vanished into the rain once again.

The couch in the living room wasn't the most comfortable thing to sleep on, however, Margaret would take a lumpy couch over a bed in Capricorn's village any day. As she settled in, she could hear Mortimer fussing with his daughter. Despite her efforts to protect Meggie from getting caught for eavesdropping, it appeared that she was still discovered. Parents had strange ways of figuring out their children's lies.

Soon enough, the lights upstairs went off and Margaret was left alone with her thoughts, listening to the sound of the rain hit the roof of the house. She was actually free. It was so surreal, drifting off to sleep outside the clutches of Capricorn and his men.

For the first time in ages, Margaret slept peacefully and dreamt of being young again, coming home to her parents (who were still attentive at the time) after her first night away from home. She saw herself and her toothy ten year old grin, hugging her mother tightly.

* * *

So another chapter is up! As always, please favorite and review if you wish to do so. I'd much rather have reviews, though. Tell me how I'm doing!

I'm told that I write well, but that's for academic papers and artist's statements. I have no idea how I'm doing creatively.

I will say up front now that I've decided, that when the time comes, at the "end" (or where the book would end), I'm going to turn the story into an AU where Meggie and Fenogilo's plan failed. The reason? I really love Capricorn. I really do. I don't want to see him go. Plus, there aren't enough fics of this AU (that are updated regularly.)

\- kusjes, Minke and her cat, Maaike ( I say that because she is rubbing against my computer ).

Edited to remove a redundant word in the sentence. Sometimes I work days on this stuff, so I forget to read the sentence over when I start writing again.


	3. South

The sun hadn't even begun to warm Margaret's face before she was woken up by Mortimer clamoring about the house. For a moment, she had forgotten that she was free and looked around the room in a panic. She caught the gaze of Mortimer, who was packing sandwiches into a burlap grocery bag.

"Good morning," he chimed, "sorry to wake you." He poured hot coffee into a thermos, screwing the lid on tightly and placing it carefully into the bag. Margaret swung her legs over the edge of the couch and stood up, a chill sent through her body as her feet touched the cold floor. She wrapped her arms around her waist and sleepily walked towards the small kitchen. Mortimer looked up as she glanced awkwardly about the room, "there's cocoa if you'd like some." He paused, "I can't imagine how strange this must be, waking up to a normal morning after so long."

Margaret looked at the ground, a somber way of agreeing with his statement. She tentatively reached for a mug filled with warm cocoa, resisting the urge to drink it all at once. It had been ages since she had drinken this. "Are you packing up because of Capricorn?" She asked, glancing up. Mortimer looked at her with a sullen look, she didn't need to hear comfirmation from him. His face explained everything. "I remember there was this one girl he really wanted as a maid... he had his men track her down for weeks; he was relentless." Margaret paused, taking a sip of her cocoa, "And after the third week of working for him, she tried escaping and was found dead in the hills, bitten by a snake." She quickly realized that there was no point in her story and returned to her quiet, shy demeanor.

"I don't plan on letting Capricorn get a hold of us," Mortimer smiled as he tied up the grocery bag and placed it on the floor. "If you don't mind, I'm going to wake up my daughter." He started out of the kitchen, but suddenly stopped. "You know, it may be a good idea to come along with us. We're going to be staying with one of my wife's aunts, I'm sure there'd be a room for you to stay in." Mortimer turned and headed towards the stairs. "Just think about it. I'm sure Meggie would appreciate some younger company."

Margaret was honestly surprised that this man was offering to take her along on this trip. She wandered back over to the couch, seriously considering this man's offer. Sure, she wanted to see if her parents were around, but there was no way to get home without risking her life, and honestly, she wasn't ready to travel alone just yet. She heard Meggie upstairs, now walking about, probably packing. Maybe she would appreciate the company of another girl, it appeared that she was alone anyway.

Just then, it struck her. Mortimer had mentioned a wife. Where was she? Surely she must be uncomfortable with the idea of a young woman spending the night in her husband's house. Then again, she hadn't noticed any guilt in Mortimer's eyes when he invited her to sleep on the couch or when he mentioned his wife. She glanced up at Mortimer, who was carrying a vibrant, red box downstairs. "I think I'll come with you," Margaret announced as he placed the box by the door. "I can't travel any further in that car, and I'm not ready to risk my life to visit my parents, who probably don't even miss me." Mortimer smiled and headed back towards the kitchen to grab his bags of food and what appeared to be his bookbinding supplies. "The only problem is, I don't have any other clothes besides these and the torn up dress that I arrived in, which needs to be burned."

Mortimer chuckled and nodded towards the stairs, "I should have some of my wife's clothes up there. I didn't keep much, but I kept some." Margaret looked towards him, a confused look painted over her face. "Don't worry, she's been gone for quite some time. She left on business and never returned. I think she was a little to keen on adventuring." Margaret felt sorry for Mortimer. She could tell that he was pained to say that his wife was gone. Finding it difficult to find the right thing to say, Margaret simply nodded and headed up the stairs.

It felt strange, walking around in a stranger's house, going through his drawers and finding clothes that fit her. Mortimer came up to help her, telling her that she could keep his olive sweater, that it didn't fit him anyway. She could feel his daughter's eyes burn on the back of her head, uncertain of this stranger. Eventually, Margaret found some clothes that fit her. She was larger than this woman, who, judging by the way her clothes fit her, was thin and somewhat wiry.

Just as she zipped up the bag of clothes, Mortimer stepped through the front door, "good, you're almost finished. Would you mind grabbing that last box and locking the house? The key is in the lock. I'm going to go ahead and head down to the gate so I can get everything closed up properly." Margret nodded and pulled her bag over her shoulder, giving the couch she had been sleeping on a once-over. She slipped on her boots and picked up the box, which she was expecting to be quite heavy, but much to her delight was easy to lift.

Margaret noticed Mortimer talking to someone as she locked the door to the house. She quickly made her way over to the van, which was an old camper van that had probably been made in the 70's. As Margaret opened the side door to the van, sliding the box in carefully, she caught a glimpse of who Mortimer was talking to. Dustfinger. He hadn't gone very far after all. He, the bookbinder, and Meggie all seemed to be frustruated. Margaret learned from the context that it was about Capricorn, someone who Mortimer had apparently been hiding from his daughter for a long time. She wasn't too happy about it, and jumped out of the van, demanding answers.

Of course Dustfinger would be the one to explain Capricorn to her. As Margaret watched the girl's eyes widen with fear, she stepped into the van, seating herself on one of the benches in the back. She was going to try to stay out of as much conflict as possible. It made no sense to jump in the argument between a father and a daughter.

Eventually, everything passed and the four were quickly on their way towards this aunt's house. The drone of the tires on pavement slowly lulled Margaret to sleep, leaving her completely oblivious to what direction the van was headed in.

 _Margaret had messed up. In front of her lay a dead woman, a woman named Rebecca, to be exact. Capricorn had wanted her to bring out riches from a book of his choice, which happened to be Ivanhoe. Had he actually read the book, he would've learned that there were hardly any riches, except for a beautiful Jewess named Rebecca, who was dressed lavishly. He wanted Margaret to bring her out, mainly to take her jewels and whatever else shiny she may have, but also to be a maid (or something worse). Needless to say, he was extremely disappointed to have a dead, but lovely woman laying in the middle of his floor. It was partly his fault, though, as he had utilized Basta to threaten Margaret. A knife was pressed against her back while she read. She stumbled over Rebecca's name, causing her to arrive in this world dead._

 _The eighteen-year-old hoped that Capricorn was just disappointed in her. After all, it was the first human she had ever attempted to bring out. However, he didn't care if this had been her first time or her hundreth time. As he gazed upon the limp body, Capricorn grew furious._

 _Margaret had always assumed that Capricorn was weak. After all, he had his men do all the dirty work for him. This was not the case. He lept from his chair towards the girl, who Basta was now holding tight. Margaret wanted to cower, but if she moved, the knife pressed against her back would cut her. Capricorn grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her close to him, his cold eyes drilling holes in her skull. He was strong. Tears escaped from Margaret's eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She wanted to cry out in pain, but she was paralyzed by fear._

 _"_ _I didn't ask for much," he spat coldly, "I asked for this woman and whatever riches may have been on her." Capricorn let go of Margaret's hair, dropping her to the cold, flagstone floor of the church. "All I wanted was for you to put on a fun show, bring out some coins, show us your talent." He pushed her down with his boot, "but now I have to deal with taking care of a body!" A sharp cry escaped from Margaret's lips as he pressed on her back hard with his foot. "Now, my men have lost their entertainment for the evening!"_

 _Margaret struggled under the weight of Capricorn's boot, she felt as if her lungs were being crushed. She grabbed at the floor, searching for anything she could use to pull herself away. Another boot stomped on Margaret's hands, forcing a scream from her lungs. She felt like a bug being killed slowly and painfully by a child; each limb being torn off carefully._

 _"_ _Basta, give me your knife," Capricorn demanded, pressing his boot deeper into her back. Margaret knew what was coming. Her punishment. Capricorn lifted his foot from her back and knelt down next to her. At this point, she was too weak to even try to crawl away. There was nowhere where she could go, anyway. She felt the cool blade of the knife touch her skin, and could hear the tearing of the fabric of her dress. The men who were in the room let out coos and whistled as her back became more and more exposed. "Hold her arms, Basta." Strong hands gripped her arms tightly, almost too tightly._

 _Margaret had only seen Capricorn deal punishment twice during the six months she had been their captive. He only carried out punishments himself if he was really furious or bored. Today, he was both furious and bored. "Let this be a lesson, girl," he whispered into her ear as he began slicing into her back._

 _The screech Margaret let out could be heard all across the village. It echoed throughout the red church. The men listened to it happily, as if it were this beautiful concerto played by the most talented musician. Capricorn let her scream ring out before cutting into her back again. This time, he didn't let her screams finish before going back in with the knife. It felt like it was an eternity before Capricorn was finally satisfied with his handiwork. She could feel him lean up towards her head, his hands brushing her hair away from her ear. "Don't disappoint me again, dear," he whispered, his breath on her ear sent a shiver down her spine, "you're my property, and now, everyone will know." Capricorn gently tousled her hair and stood up, leaving her paralyzed on the floor._

Margaret woke with a start, sweat dripping from her forehead. Dustfinger was asleep on the bench next to her, snoring quietly. The only one awake in the van was Mortimer, who was concentrating on the road. Hearing her waking, he glanced in his mirror back at her, a concerned look on his face. "You alright?" He asked, directing his focus back on the road.

"Yeah." Margaret said sullenly as she wrapped her arms around her. She slid off of the bench and crawled towards the front, resting her back against the driver's seat. "I dreamt about the first time Capricorn made me bring a human being out of a book." She laughed shallowly, glancing down at her hands, "it didn't go well."

Mortimer looked back at Margaret, "what happened? If you don't mind my asking."

She sighed, lacing her fingers together. Nobody from the real world would be able to fathom what had been done to her. This was stuff out of fiction. However, it seemed as if Mortimer would at least be able to grasp what she was talking about. "It was the book _Ivanhoe,"_ Margaret started, "He wanted me to bring Rebecca out of the book, but I got really scared when I was reading and brought her out dead." She felt queasy just thinking about it. "Capricorn was furious. He forced me down to the floor and went at me with Basta's knife." She paused for a moment, letting Mortimer process everything that she was telling him. He said nothing in response. How could he? There was no way he could reciprocate what she felt. "Now, every time I look at myself in a mirror, I see Capricorn's personal signature on my back. It was his way of branding me."

Mortimer offered his condolences, but there wasn't much he could say in response. The two sat in silence for awhile, but soon began talking about different things in their lives: family, friends, school, anything to stay away from the topic of Capricorn. They went on for hours until they stopped at a gate covered in vines.

* * *

Hello again! It took awhile for me to write this one, but now I'm on a roll again. I should mention that I really messed up, though. Margaret came from Capricorn's southern base, but in the book Dustfinger tells him that he's in the north (I'm going off of a headcanon of mine that Dustfinger had been lying to him the whole time and was just luring him closer to Capricorn, however, Margaret would've known he was lying if she heard him say that they were headed south). So this is why I had Margaret lock up Mo's house and meet them at the gate, missing the whole conversation between Mo and Dustfinger. I'm trying to eliminate me having to re-tell what already happened in Inkheart, so I'll be inserting more and more peeks at Margaret's past at Capricorn's village. Hopefully this will keep the story interesting up until the point where new things start happening.

xoxo - Minke


	4. Return to Normalcy

Margaret wasn't too fond of this aunt Elinor that Mortimer had taken them to. She was cold and unwelcoming, with wrinkly little eyes that watched every move your hands made. Her house was full of books and Margaret couldn't touch any of them. She stood grumpily behind Meggie as they were shown around the house, eagerly waiting to be shown her room so she could brood about in peace. It wasn't that she was bothered by amount of attention thrown her way, but she had been so used to spending days, sometimes even weeks without being spoken to by anyone other than a guard who had to warn her about running away every time she needed to use the bathroom. Margaret needed some alone time, so when she was told that she'd have to share a room with Meggie, she was at most, disappointed.

The room she and Meggie were sharing was large, the bed able to fit a large family. Margaret relaxed a bit as she set her bags down and sprawled out on top of the bed. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Perhaps she would go out and explore the grounds once she settled in and got some food in her. Meggie still looked unsure of Margaret, which didn't surprise her at all. She wanted this girl to trust her, but who really wanted to trust a strange woman who shows up on your doorstep in the middle of the night and comes along with you to your aunt's?

Suddeny, Meggie blurted out, "why did you come with us, are you from wherever that Capricorn is from, do you know anything about the book covered in brown paper?" She was shooting out questions faster than Margaret could process them. The young girl looked desperate for answers, but Magaret couldn't tell her much. She didn't want to breach the trust she had with Mortimer, plus, she doubted that Meggie would even be able to understand the severity of what she had been through over these past five years. Margaret was never really good with kids, she had no idea how to talk to them. At twelve, there were some who still needed to be coddled and some who were practically adults. She hadn't been around Meggie long enough to know which kind she was.

Margaret sighed deeply and glanced over at Meggie, who was gazing at her expectantly. A little bit of info couldn't hurt. "Well for starters," she sighed, exhausted, "I came here because I need some time before I go home. My parents are difficult people and I need my mind to catch up before I see them. I came from where Capricorn is, yes, but I'm not going to elaborate on it. I'm sure Dustfinger told you what kind of person he is, and my stories aren't the kind of stories for young ears to hear." Margaret paused and ran a hand through her hair (which desperately needed washing from what she could feel). "I can only guess what book your father has. I never read it, though. I wasn't even allowed to touch it." Meggie's gaze fell to the floor. She looked satisfied by what Margaret had told her, but still hungry for more information. Hopefully this would be the end of her suspicious gazes.

The two meandered about the room for a short while, eventually, they were called down for dinner. It was surprisingly palatable and Margaret even reached for seconds. The food she had eaten while under Capricorn's watch was superb, but had no taste when you were captive. She had felt nothing but pain while she was captive, and eventually, the pain became a dull sensation. Margaret had forced herself to be numb for so long, it was almost overwhelming to feel joy or happiness. She had to restrain herself from crying over this meal. Eventually, it became too much for her to handle and she excused herself to go wander the grounds.

There was something comforting about walking at dusk. Margaret used to take evening walks with one of her elderly neighbors back when she was a child. The air was cool and sweet; in the distance, she could see the reflection of the moon glimmering on the lake water. The sound of windchimes in the distance calmed her nerves and at this moment, everything was perfect in her world.

Margaret was scolded by Elinor when she returned to the house. Apparently she was just about to turn on her alarm system. She was scolded for a good while, but eventually managed to slink away into the bedroom that she and Meggie were sharing. Margaret entered quietly; the young girl was already fast asleep. She quickly dressed into a pair of comfy pants she had found and what appeared to be a maternity shirt. Margaret hadn't had the time to inspect the clothing she was loaning from Mortimer's wife, but as she looked now, it appeared that most everything was old maternity clothing. This wouldn't do. Perhaps there would be a chance in the future for her to find some fresh clothing.

After a quick visit to the lavatory to wash her face and complain about the state of her hair and the bags under her eyes, Margaret slipped into the bed and quickly nodded off to sleep, dreaming of the moon's reflection on the lake. At some point in the middle of the night, she decided that her dream would make a wonderful story, but when she woke the next morning, it had been forgotten.

Margaret was alone in her room when she finally decided to sit up and rub the sleep out of her eyes. She showered quickly, finally able to wash of the last bit of grime from Capricorn's village, and went downstairs to see if anyone was around. Finding the kitchen empty, Margaret grabbed a slice of bread left from last night's dinner and wandered into the library to find Meggie and Mortimer bickering. She waited for Meggie to storm off elsewhere before she bothered the bookbinder at his work.

She said nothing when he turned his head toward her, acknowledging her coming into the small room where he worked. Margaret perched herself on a stool near the table and silently watched him work. The room she sat in was a tiny room built off from the library. It held hundreds of books on wildflowers and animals, they weren't particularly interesting when Margaret skimmed through them, but the illustrations were beautiful. She and Mortimer held small conversations every now and then, talking about family and plaes they had been on for vacation, but no word about Capricorn. Eventually, she slipped away to the garden with a few books, where she read in the sunlight until Elinor returned and served dinner.

Dinner that night wasn't as good, Elinor claimed that the pasta sauce was premade, but Margaret didn't care. She happily ate it all and listened to the conversations across the table. Meggie was wanting Elinor to put off on turning the alarm on so she could watch Dustfinger perform. Margaret was even invited, but she declined. It wasn't that she hated Dustfinger, but there was something about his presence that made her uneasy. Perhaps it was because he frequented Capricorn's village or that they were from the same story. Instead, she snuck back into the library to watch Mortimer work on repairing the books. It was an interesting process, a trade Margaret had always wanted to learn, but didn't due to it dying. There were very few people left in this world who knew how to take care of books the way Mortimer did.

Carefully balancing two mugs of tea on her arm, Margaret opened the door to the library. Mortimer was laboring away over tbe damaged books and didn't even notice her entrance. She put the tea on an empty corner of the table for the bookbinder, and took a mug for herself to one of the large armchairs. Earlier, she had found a copy of "The Old Man and the Sea" on one of the shelves outside of the library and had taken it without Elinor's knowledge. Margaret didn't really care for the book, however, it was the only one she had recognized.

Margaret lost track of the time as she read. She and Mortimer exchanged a few words every now and then, but for the most part, she read silently to the sound of knives cutting through leather and books gently being torn from their bindings. Eventually, the monotony lulled her to sleep.

Before she could even begin dreaming, Margaret woke up to a hand covering her mouth and a knife to her throat. She knew all too well who's knife it was; she didn't even need to open her eyes. Basta. Margaret struggled to try to break free, but the chill of the knife stung on her neck and forced her to jerk back away from the blade as far as she could. How did he find them? Margaret had been careful, certain that nobody had followed her and Dustfinger out of the village. She was pulled to her feet and pushed over towards Flatnose, who was much stronger and grasped her arm tightly.

Margaret wasn't paying any attention at all to Basta arguing with Mortimer. Instead, she was searching for a way to escape Flatnose's grasp. He was holding her arm tightly, without any effort, so when she felt his grasp loosen the slightest, she dropped her weight and elbowed him in the knees, making her escape. She darted out of the library and down the hall, sliding on the carpeting. Margaret made it twenty feet out of the front door before a shot rang in her ears and was sent crumpling towards the ground.

The scream Margaret let out was deafening. Even Basta had a look of shock on his face as he came out with Mortimer in tow. She had been shot right in the calf, just barely missing anything important. Blood pooled out of her leg onto the gravel driveway and the sting of the rocks made the pain worse.

"Idiot!" Basta yelled at the boy who had shot her, "Capricorn wanted her back unharmed. How many time have we told you? Shoot just beyond their legs, just to startle them!" He continued to chew out the young boy who had shot her as Flatnose came and lifted her up from the ground. Margaret grunted in pain, as he wasn't very gentle. She was laid down in the back of the van, where another black jacket sloppily dressed her wound. Margaret was too weak to fight back, the bullet was still lodged in her leg and it hurt like hell. She didn't even bother turning her head to see if Mortimer was unharmed, she simply fell asleep ignoring the pain in her leg as best as she could.

Author's Note:

Here's another chapter! I may re-read and edit later if I find anything wrong, but I kind of wanted to zoom through being at Elinor's house, since there wasn't anything new that I had to add. But now in the upcoming chapters, there will be more Margaret and less Folchearts since what I have planned for her doesn't fit in with what they're doing throughout the middle part of the book. Hopefully that'll keep things interesting until I get to completely new content!


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